This morning there was a mosquito in my bathroom.
It buzzed around frantically from here to there, from one light in the bathroom to another. A couple of times it went to the reflections of the lights in the mirror. It was looking for a way out but was trapped by its fondness for bright lights. It was probably subconsciously seeking the brightest light of all, the sunlight, but in the captivity of the bathroom it did not know this and couldn't seem to find a way to fulfill this deep, primordial search.
I watched this all. I could see that the large louvered window was just inches away, if only the mosquito would stop to look instead of expending itself on frenzied activity.
After a while, the mosquito perched himself on the basin mirror, almost as if looking at himself, reassessing the situation and probably coming to the conclusion that all his effort was getting him nowhere. He was still stuck where he was and there wasn't anything he could do to get where he, for some unknown reason, wanted to be.
Compassion arose. I found myself switching off the lights in the bathroom and opening the louvers of the window wider. Then, a single swipe of the hand towel drove the mosquito towards the window and there it fluttered in mid-air, trembling for a nano second at the sight of the light he had been seeking, and then, in a swoosh, he was out.